Groundhog Doomsday
by TeeNa3
Summary: Various possible futures are happening simultaneously. I can tell you all of them, but I cannot tell you which one of them will come to pass. Because every action causes ripples, consequences both obvious and... unforeseen. SOMETIMES WITH A TWIST.


**Author's notes:** I was just one of my many random ideas which needed to be put down on paper... or a computer screen. Since we're about to see a different present in the upcoming season of out favorite show I decided that it would be fun to mess around a little and screw the plot up a bit.

This fic is based on a theory that the Observers collect information about characters and events and use it somehow to change any particular moment at any time so that they can rewrite the history, blah blah blah, this is too long and boring to be explained properly, so let's put it simply, considering there's always a Butterfly Effect, what happened if one tiny thing went a little different? Or maybe I was just inspired by the season three bloopers, who knows? xD

* * *

><p><strong>Episode 1.01 "Pilot"<strong>

**Morgan Steig (1):** _[acting nervously after dosing himself with insulin]_  
><strong>The man next to Steig (2)<strong>: It's just an electrical storm.  
><strong>(1):<strong> I understand.  
><strong>(2):<strong> Here, gum?  
><strong>(1):<strong> _[thinks for a moment... takes gum]_ Thank you... Mmm, strawberry.  
><em>[The plane lands safely in Logan a few hours later]<em>  
><strong>September:<strong> I think we might have missed something...  
><strong>Richard Steig:<strong> Wait... did I forget to put the toxin into the insulin pen? D'oh. _[facepalm]  
><em>**JJ Abrams:** I forgot to kill the pilot in the Pilot! _[facepalm]_

* * *

><p><strong>John:<strong> The idea somebody making a call whether not you and I get to live in the same city is unacceptable to me. Anyway that's just a preamble to a kicker, which is - I'm hungry, let's order pizza. Do you remember the delivery's number?

* * *

><p><strong>Charlie:<strong> We've got a flight out of Hamburg, 147 passengers. Tower has lost contact thr...  
><strong>Olivia:<strong> Hold up.  
><strong>Charlie:<strong> _[confused]_ What?  
><strong>Olivia:<strong> There are no direct flights between Hamburg and Boston.  
><em>[awkward silence]<em>  
><strong>Charlie:<strong> Kiddo, did you really have to ruin everything? Man, it was perfect. Dammit.

* * *

><p><strong>Charlie:<strong> Agent Scott.  
><strong>John:<strong> Agent Francis... Agent Dunham...  
><strong>Olivia:<strong> So I'm agent Dunham now, huh? Well, listen to me, Johnny. Next time you call me in the middle of the night crying about how lonely you are, please make sure you remember my name in the morning. _[folds arms, turns away]_

* * *

><p><strong>Broyles:<strong> Liaison on an interagency task force, got to love that. Kinda like sugared glaze... wait, can we do that one more time?

* * *

><p><strong>Lincoln (OH):<strong> Hello, my name is Lincoln Lee, I'm a special FBI agent from Hartford, Connecticut. The bureau sent me here to help investigate the Hamburg flight case. _[shakes hands]  
><em>**Charlie and Olivia:** _[exchange glances]  
><em>**Charlie: **_[points behind Lincoln's back]_ Look! Is that a pterodactyl?  
><strong>Lincoln:<strong> _[looks around]  
><em>**Charlie and Olivia:** __[run away]__

* * *

><p><strong>Olivia:<strong> You said you loved me. In the motel.  
><strong>John:<strong> _[looks around cautiously]_ No I didn't...  
><strong>Olivia:<strong> Yes, you did.  
><strong>John:<strong> Um, no, I'm pretty sure I didn't.

* * *

><p><strong>Olivia:<strong> Empty.  
><strong>John:<strong> Acetylene, propane?  
><strong>Olivia:<strong> _[smells the canister] _No... whiskey... oh wait, it's not as empty as I thought!

* * *

><p><strong>Peter: <strong>Hi, I'm Pacey Bishop. Crap, I mean, hi, I'm Peter Jackson. DAMMIT!

* * *

><p><strong>Olivia:<strong> Peter Bishop? Olivia Dunham. I'm with the FBI.  
><strong>Peter:<strong> Ohkaaay...  
><strong>Olivia:<strong> You've heard of flight 815?  
><strong>Peter:<strong> The Sydney flight, of course... wait what?

* * *

><p><strong>Olivia:<strong> So, either you come with me, or I let certain people know your whereabouts.  
><strong>Peter:<strong> _[sarcastic look]_ Come on, like you haven't told my dad already, pft, you need to stop handing out your drawings to strangers, girl.

* * *

><p><strong>Walter:<strong> They have this horrible pudding here. Butterscotch pudding on Thursdays. It's dreadful.  
><strong>Olivia:<strong> Yeah? Well, too bad it _is_ Thursday...  
><strong>December:<strong> _[checks watch suddenly] _Is it? Crap... Ok, people, puddings on Mondays instead, rewind, rewind, chop chop!

* * *

><p><strong>Olivia:<strong> I'm sure you're anxious to get as far away from here as possible. To Iraq or Afghanistan, or some other out of reach places. But I'm here to tell you that your father needs to stay, which means that you need to... too.  
><strong>Peter:<strong> Nah, I don't feel like it, sweetheart.  
><strong>September:<strong> Applesbananasrhinoceros iwannaholdyourhand lucyintheskywithdiamonds _[stuns Peter with a strange gun, tilts head]_ How about now?


End file.
